


Fire (Of Unknown Origin)

by daleked



Series: Brief Lives: Alternate Universes [7]
Category: Dishonored (Video Game), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Dieselpunk, Multi, PLAGUES, Rats, THIS IS A MIX OF EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED TO READ, Well more like oilpunk because it uses whale oil, Zombies, alternate universe- fusion, so I wrote it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleked/pseuds/daleked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once-powerful Beacon City is staggering under the weight of plague-infested rats and corpses, corrupt priests and mass killings.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>"Your bodyguard is fighting for you," The Outsider purrs, leaning against a rock. "He is fighting his demons and your enemies every day. And what can you do, little one? Are you going to wait for him in this smelly pub, day in day out until his death and beyond? Or will you see him by your side when you ascend to power?"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, guys. This is a story. It has zombies (called weepers) and rats with the plague and fancy clothing and assassinations and gritty, destroyed districts of an empire, as well as plots of usurping Emperors and Crown Princes used as mouthpieces and propaganda officers and priests of a corrupt cult called Overseers. If all this sounds familiar to you, then yes, I am basing it on the game Dishonored.
> 
> But you don't have to play it to read this story.

 

 

"Derek," Stiles whispers urgently. "Derek, for fuck's sake, where are you?" The sewer echoes his voice and it carries slowly. There is the sound of a million tiny feet and squeaking and- Stiles is fucked. The rats. The fucking sewer rats. He drops his dagger in haste and full-on runs for his life, back up the opening to the Hound Pack pub. Stiles can hear the swarm gaining behind him, little claws scrabbling against the cement, and he mentally prepares to meet death. There is a sudden collective shriek and he turns around to see the rats pulling up like a wave, rearing and collapsing in upon themselves before leaping away? 

Derek comes around the corner where the rats went, holding up Stiles' weapon.

"You dropped this," he says, and passes it back to Stiles. 

"How'd you get past the rats?" Stiles asks, eyes wide. "They- they were just..." Derek waves away his questions and points towards the hatch at the top.

"Let's just get back." They climb up and Stiles shields his eyes from the sunlight, harsh after the murky half-dark of the sewer. Already, the rats seem like a distant nightmare.

"Lord Stiles," Erica greets, and comes towards them. She's holding a tin of jellied eels and Stiles' stomach rumbles at the sight of them. He remembers the days when his parents and Scott feasted: roast suckling pig, red wine, crusty baguettes and whole carp. These days, he'd be thankful for a bite of whale meat. Erica passes Derek a slip of paper and he immediately marches off into the pub, presumably heading up to speak to Admiral Peter. Say what the Loyalists will about Peter, but Stiles still gets a bad feeling from him.

"Erica, don't call me that," Stiles says uncomfortably. "Where is Finstock?"

"Manning the boat. Derek will have to go on another mission, I'm afraid," and Stiles' heart skips a beat out of fear. Derek's missions are deemed vital to the cause by Admiral Peter and Overseer Adrian Harris. Derek's last mission was to rescue Stiles from the Golden Cat.

"What is it this time?" Erica drops her voice and leans in.

"He's going to Lahey's apartment on Stilinski bridge and bring him back here. Apparently, Admiral Peter thinks that Lahey will be able to work with Boyd... Two mad geniuses here, all the better to create things with. Plus, apparently Lahey knows who is financing Lord Regent Gerard. Then Derek will take out the person, if you know what I mean."

 "Derek doesn't do assassinations," Stiles says hotly. "He's... He's kind." Erica smirks at him and they walk over to the pub.

+

Stiles wonders if his family is alright. The last time he was with them was two months ago, standing with his father at the gazebo as Captain Argent's ship pulled in. Derek is, or rather, was Royal Protector. Stiles' personal bodyguard. He'd been sent away to the other cities at the Empress' request, to ask for help. The plague that consumed Beacon City was spreading, and the Emperor was desperate to help his citizens. Derek had come up to them and bowed stiffly, passing the letter to Emperor Stilinski. His brother Scott was probably sneaking time away to meet Allison, Captain Argent's daughter, somewhere in the kitchens. He misses Scott dearly.

"They're waiting to see if we turn into a graveyard," Stiles' father muttered as Scott's mother clasped her hands behind her back.. "These cowards... Leave us, Lord Spymaster Gerard." The Spymaster had backed away and left quietly, and Stiles' parents drew away to stand at the railing and talk. Derek had touched his arm gravely then. 

"Crown Prince Stiles," he said. "Do not worry. I will be by your side." Stiles was about to reply when something caught his eye at the far rooftop.

What he remembers is seeing people materialise at the edge of his vision, grabbing him and vanishing into shreds, screaming for Derek all the while. He remembers living at Beacon City's most famous brothel for two months, every escape attempt met with resistance and injuries. At least he wasn't forced to service any clients, he reminds himself. The Madame had just kept him locked up in a room, making leery promises that when Stiles was old enough, he would be put to work.

Derek came for him one afternoon. Derek will always come for him.

+ 

"Stop calling me that," Stiles says as Boyd passes him an empty tank of whale oil and politely requests for 'The Crown Prince to assist in refilling the fuel container'. "We're all equal here at the Hound Pack." 

Boyd smiles at him and continues crafting sleep darts for Derek.

"It is difficult," Boyd hesitates. "It is difficult to believe we are in such a situation, S-stiles."

"How so?" 

"I used to work in the labs in the dungeons of Beacon Tower, where your family slept. I was the one who created the elixirs that kept you all healthy. I was not allowed upstairs. The servants weren't, under the order of Spymaster Gerard. It is different to see that one's work has benefitted someone living, rather than curing corpses." Stiles laughs and brings a container over to the dispenser for refuelling.

"I suppose. Thank you for your service, Vernon." Boyd grins at him, thick fingers nimbly fastening up the end of the dart.

+

Derek has been with Stiles the moment he was born. He remembers a twelve year old Derek trying spinning kicks in the garden while he, barely six years old, sat in the shade of doting ladies-in-waiting, petting his fair skin and trying to keep him out of the sun. When Stiles was ten, Derek went off to military academy and returned after four years. 

Derek had been meant for Stiles all along.

 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some references to make it easier. There is a [map](http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120621202443/dishonoredvideogame/images/b/be/DunwallArea72N85Map.jpg), [some buildings](http://www.10wallpaper.com/down/Dishonored_Game_HD_Wallpaper_20_1920x1200_wallpaper.html), [a couple of streets](http://www.slackjawpunks.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/248854-1000x500.jpg), [Riversides](http://images.pushsquare.com/screenshots/43181/large.jpg), [a few whale oil tanks](http://images.pushsquare.com/screenshots/43184/large.jpg), [a manor party](http://images.pushsquare.com/screenshots/43187/large.jpg) and [Derek's tattoo in this 'verse](http://www.dishonoredcentral.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/dishonored-tattoo.jpg).

 

Stiles is looting through dead River Krusts for pearls when the yowling of sirens reaches his ears. He can hear the voices of the propaganda officers, reminding the citizens that a new curfew has been established to lower the chances of the plague affecting people. He snorts and digs through the folds of the molluscs, gloved fingers retrieving pearls coated in slime. Judging from the way the sun slants through the grilles ahead, it's nearly evening. Stiles pockets his loot and proceeds towards the entrance. He's spending more and more time in the sewers lately, crossbow strapped to his back and loaded with incendiary bolts in case of rats. 

He doesn't tell people that he dreams of a man with eyes completely dark, arms folding and smiling at him while the fog swirls around them. He's hears descriptions of the man before. Not a man, but a god. A trickster. The Outsider. Stiles sees graffiti on crumbling houses- scrawled The Outsider Walks Amongst Us, a warning, perhaps. He dumps his loot on the counter of the pub, ignoring squawks of protest from Admiral Peter, and tosses his dirty gloves in the sink. Derek's back! He dashes up the stairs but stops short at the doorway.

He's seen Derek shirtless before. They did grow up together, after all. But that mark is new. A giant tattoo graces Derek's back, all jagged edges and faint blue-green. He's never seen that symbol before. 

"That's new." Derek turns around and looks at him, pulling on a clean shirt. His gaze is impassive and he shrugs, sitting down on the bed and peeling off his boots. Stiles comes towards him and sits down on the bed as well, coughing awkwardly.

"You got Lahey, then?"

"Yes." Stiles nervously touches Derek's shoulder, feeling the tension between them ratchet up a notch.

"Thank you. You know. For saving me and for doing all this. I mean. For the Empire. We thank you. I mean, I'm doing this. Saying thank you. On the behalf of everyone. I know everyone downstairs is talking about how good you are at missions and neutralising people. And. I know you're not killing them, you. You've never been a fan of messy deaths. Or deaths, in particular. You know." Derek makes a strangled sound and his hands twitch towards Stiles, enfolding him in an awkward hug. Stiles laughs and embraces him properly, squeezing.

"Words are still a pain in the butt for you, huh?" Derek lets go of him gently and half-smiles.

"You do enough talking for the both of us."

 + 

"Tyvian pears and brined hag-fish," Erica says, putting the plate down in front of Stiles. "Be glad, because most of us are having rat skewers."

"I wouldn't mind having rat skewers," Stiles says honestly, and Erica laughs derisively. She's about to say something when Chris comes in.

"Two tins of potted whale meat!" He says proudly, and everyone swarms around him. From what Stiles can see, whale meat is loved because of the nostalgia it carries for the Loyalists: a time before a plague, where they brought whale luncheons to school and things like that. Stiles, however, was brought up on fine Tyvian wine and Serkonan blood sausages and apricot tartlets, so he can't quite profess the same enthusiasm for whale meat. He sits alone at his table and listens as they wax lyrical about things he has never known.

"We had to wade through the Flooded District for hagfish eggs on a dare!" Boyd laughs, and even Peter joins in with talk of how they used to steal the ribs from whaling ships because the meat there was so tender. Stiles stabs his fish with a fork and chews silently, watching the Loyalists and envying their camaraderie. 

+

The next day, Scott's voice comes over the citywide announcements. Stiles' heart leaps in his throat because his brother is alive and well, but the next few sentences do not bode well.

"I, Scott McCall, second-in-line for the throne, am taking up the mantle left behind by my dead parents and missing brother." His voice is trembling, and to any ordinary person listening it might sound like bereavement, but Stiles knows Scott better. It's fear. Somebody is threatening him. Gerard Argent, maybe? Protectiveness wells up in Stiles, but he forces himself to keep still and finish listening to the broadcast.

"I am your new Crown Prince for the time being until I turn twenty-one, when I will be Emperor." There's a definite quaver to his voice, and he sounds on the edge of tears. His voice is replaced by that of the propaganda officer, who encourages everyone to recite the Beacon City pledge every night before bed, so as to not forget where their loyalties lie. 

"They're using him as a mouthpiece," Admiral Peter says grimly. Stiles turns around to see Admiral Peter standing firm, arms clasped behind his back. He nods at Stiles and bows.

"Forgive me for speaking so crassly of your brother, my Lord." Stiles shakes his head. 

"We have to save him," Stiles murmurs. "We have to. He's the only one I have left."

 


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're drawing close to the end! Also, they obviously used the phrase 'bow chicka bow wow' even back then. /sarcasm

 

Derek comes back with Scott on the very next mission. Stiles can't stop himself from embracing his brother, and he traces a hand over the bruises on Scott's face. Scott is shivering in the cool air, his light garments unsuited for the weather outside. Derek privately tells Stiles that Scott was being kept in the small room at the top of the tower, with a tray of food and a flask of water for company. 

"I'll kill Gerard Argent yet," Stiles says violently, and Scott closes his eyes and breathes shallowly, balancing against Stiles as if he can't believe it, that he's finally safe here. _Safe_ , with Stiles and Derek.

"I'm alright, Stiles," Scott says, and sways on his feet. They hurry him to Stiles' bedroom and feed him up, with goblets of watered-down tonic and all the fruits they can spare. Scott's fever rages for two nights before it comes down. Stiles stays by his side with a damp cloth to sponge  away his sweat. Derek lingers about hesitantly, and Stiles nearly laughs. The infamous Royal Protector, terrified of nothing- yet so unsure around a sick prince.

"Come on, sit down," Stiles says, patting the chair beside him. He hoists the tub of water off the chair and onto the floor, straightening his back and smiling at Derek.

"I'll have to leave soon," Derek says. "The Argent party... I have to terminate Lady Kate Argent. She's the one financing Gerard."

"Not kill, surely," Stiles murmurs. "Just... Silencing her, I suppose?"

"Perhaps," Derek replies. "Admiral Peter is adamant that she has to be put out of the picture." He holds his mask in one hand and fiddles with it, twisting the lenses and rubbing over the thin thread fastening the jaw-pieces to the main frame.

"Killing isn't you," Stiles declares, but these days, he's less sure of himself. Less sure of Derek and even more wary of Admiral Peter and Overseer Adrian Harris. They look away from each other and the silence hangs softly from the ceiling, draping itself over Scott's feverish form.

Derek flees from the room. 

"Allison," Scott says in his sleep."Allison."

+

"Your bodyguard is fighting for you," The Outsider purrs, leaning against a rock. "He is fighting his demons and your enemies every day. And what can you do, little one? Are you going to wait for him in this smelly pub, day in day out until his death and beyond? Or will you see him by your side when you ascend to power?"

+

Stiles catches Derek's sleeve just before Derek leaves on a final mission, the one they've all been waiting for. To get rid of Gerard Argent. Derek stops on the steps and looks up at him, and his eyes are surprised-hopeful-bright in a way that Stiles hasn't seen in a long time. Stiles doesn't think about it, and leans in to peck a kiss onto Derek's unmoving lips. He draws back, and embarrassment floods his senses so he can feel even the tips of his ears burn a hot red. Stiles lowers his gaze and his fingers tighten on Derek's sleeve.

"Be safe," Stiles manages to gasp out through the haze of mortification, and he's about to say some more when Derek yanks him down the stairs and kisses him savagely, hands gripping tight and disengaging too fast. 

"I will," Derek says roughly, and disappears down the staircase.

"Bow chicka bow wow," Scott calls from the doorway of his room, and laughs when Stiles groans.

+

Scott is the one that comes down the stairs, shouting in joy. The announcements are loud, and Gerard is revealing the role he played in all of the happenings. To hear that he was in charge of bringing the plague to Beacon City is enough to make Stiles sick with anger, and Gerard's full disclosure of his plan to rid the city of the poor causes Stiles to turn away from the window and head deeper into the pub. Everyone stands around and listens in raptures, and all Stiles feels is disgust in the pit of his stomach. 

Derek comes back and is whisked away by Admiral Peter.

"The man of the hour!" They say, and Stiles can't reach him over the noise of the crowd at all.  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you thought of this.


End file.
